


Nightmarish Reality

by Doctor_Discord



Series: The Ego Manor [57]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Abusive Parents, Beating, Bruises, Child Abuse, Dad Bim Trimmer, Dad Ed Edgar, Fever, Murder, Murder Family, Nightmares, Past Child Abuse, Protectiveness, Rescue, Starvation, This is not a fun story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-07 01:04:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18399974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Discord/pseuds/Doctor_Discord
Summary: Eric and Reynolds have been living with the egos for a solid three months now, and everything's been going great. But Eric suffers from nightmares about the abuse he's gone through. His father is a haunting presence in his mind. But he knows that Derek can't hurt him anymore. The egos kicked him out, and Dark was VERY clear about what would happen if he ever showed his face at the manor again. Only a moron would return.Right?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *W A R N I N G*  
> LOOK AT THE TAGS, PEOPLE!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK, THIS IS NOT A FUN STORY!!!

Eric bolted upright in bed, covered in a cold sweat and breathing heavily. He let out a choked sob, clutching one of his pillows tight to his chest. Physically shaking, he slid out of bed, stumbling his way out of his room and further down the hall. He flinched violently when he passed the boarded up and locked room next to his own, hurrying passed it to get to his destination.

He slowed as he approached the room he was after, raising a hand as if to knock but thinking better of it, clutching his pillow tighter as he pushed the door open. He stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him and shifted his feet nervously. “U-um, Ed? Are you…a-a-are you awake?”

The cowboy audibly groaned, rolling over in his bed and propping himself up on one forearm. He blinked up at Eric, squinting sleepily. “…I am now. What is it, whatchu need?”

Eric shifted again, hiding his face in his pillow. “I…had a nightmare, I didn’t want to be alone, and Bim’s with King, so…” He shook his head, backing away. “No, it’s stupid, I-I-I’ll just leave now, sorry for waking you up, I just –”

Ed rolled over again, shifting to the other side of his bed. He patted the area next to him. “C’mere, kid.”

Eric sagged with relief, hurrying over and climbing into the bed. Ed immediately slung an arm over his chest, pulling him closer. “…Thank you,” he mumbled, voice muffled by his pillow.

“Don’t worry about it, kid.” Ed sighed through his nose, resting his chin atop Eric’s head. “If you don’t mind me askin’…what was this nightmare about?”

Eric tensed, going rigid. “Um…m-my dad, he was there, and he…he…” He trailed off, muffling another sob in his pillow.

He heard Ed sigh again, and the cowboy’s grip tightened. “M’sorry you had to go through what you did, Eric,” he mumbled. “And I don’t blame you for having nightmares. But you know you’re safe, right? He won’t hurt you again, not if we have anything to say about it.”

Eric made a small noise, shifting more comfortably against Ed. “…I know.”


	2. Chapter 2

When Eric woke up the next morning, he’d never felt more well-rested in his life.

He smiled slightly, still tucked against Ed and extremely reluctant to get up. Still, he shifted out of the warmth of Ed’s hold, careful not to disturb the sleeping other, and headed back to his own room. The manor was quiet and still; it was a bit too early for any of the others to be awake yet. The morning sun peeked through the windows, bathing the hall in a soft golden glow. It was incredibly picturesque and serene, putting a soft smile on Eric’s face as he opened the door to his room.

He closed the door gently in his wake, moving slowly to avoid waking anybody up. He made to turn around and begin changing out of his pajamas, but suddenly he found himself pinned to his door, a hand pressed tightly to his mouth and a forearm against his throat. He let out a muffled scream, choking when the pressure on his throat increased, and one of his hands flew up to try and peel away the hand covering his mouth, the other scratching at the arm. His eyes finally focused, and they shot wide as he found himself staring into the glazed, sunken eyes of his father.

His breath was coming in rapid gasps through his nose as indescribable _fear_ crashed over him. He tried in vain to dislodge Derek’s grip, but the other just hissed through his teeth, pressing harder. “Stop _fucking_ moving.” Eric choked again, hands falling obediently to his sides as he focused more on just _breathing_. Derek grinned, tilting his head. “Good boy.” His expression quickly contorted into a snarl. “Don’t. Make. A _sound_.”

He backed off, and Eric sagged, pressing himself flat to the door and gasping for air. Derek looked _awful_ as he paced Eric’s room: his hair was greasy and sticking to his head, his face gaunt and pale, his clothes – still the same since the last time Eric saw him three months ago – hanging loosely off his body. Four months living on the streets had done him no favors.

Eric swallowed harshly, straightening himself. “D-D-D-Dad, I –”

Derek whipped around, and an all too familiar stinging pain across his cheek had Eric crashing to the floor with a cry. “ _What_ did I just say?! I may not have been around much lately but that gives you _no right_ to disobey me!” Eric just curled in a ball, desperately trying to hold back his tears. He swallowed back his next cry as Derek yanked him to his feet by his hair. Derek moved closer, pressing them almost flush together as he stared at Eric with dead eyes and a wide grin. “You’re gonna do some things for me, alright son?” When he didn’t get a response, he tugged on his hair sharply, forcing Eric to slap both hands over his mouth to muffle his sob, nodding hurriedly as the tears began making their way down his face. Derek licked his lips. “You’re gonna go out there and pretend nothing’s wrong. It’s a normal day! You’re gonna get me some food, some new clothes, and you’re gonna come _right back here_. Understood?” Eric nodded again, and Derek let him go.

Eric stumbled, his legs feeling like jelly beneath him and nearly sending him tumbling to the floor again. He only grabbed his glasses before shooting out the door, feeling far too unsafe with his father _watching_ him to change into actual clothes. He wiped his eyes of tears as best he could before stepping into the kitchen, still sniffing and keeping his head bowed. Google, Bing (who was lying splayed across his and Google’s chairs, his head in Google’s lap), Silver, and the Jims were already seated when he arrived, with King at the stove, Bim pressed up against him from behind with his chin resting on his shoulder.

Silver gave him an odd look as he moved to the fridge, intent on following Derek’s orders. “Eric, what are you doing? King is literally making breakfast right next to you.”

Eric froze, closing the fridge door slowly. “I-I-I uh…I-I’m n-not feeling too good. I-I-I was just gonna grab something and head back t-to my room…”

The Jims glanced at each other before narrowing their eyes at him. “Are you sure you’re okay, Eric,” CJ asked, speaking slowly with more than a hint of suspicion. “We heard some pretty weird noises coming from your room when we walked by…you sounded hurt.”

Eric attempted a reassuring smile, but, judging by the way they both raised their eyebrows, he failed. “J-just tripped, that’s all. I’m fine, I promise.”

“You’re lying.” Google tilted his head, pausing in his work of combing his fingers through Bing’s hair, his eyes flashing. “Why are you lying? What are you hiding?”

Eric swallowed, sweating profusely and avoiding all of their eyes. Thankfully, he was saved from replying by Ed walking in, holding his pillow. The cowboy flashed him a warm smile. “Hey kid, you left this in my room.” He tossed him the pillow, then squinted at him. “You don’t look so good. Your nightmare still buggin’ ya?”

Slowly, Eric nodded, clutching his pillow, and Bim finally spun around. “Nightmare? What nightmare?” He turned to face Eric, practically radiating concern.

Eric didn’t respond, just hiding his face in his pillow, and Ed took the liberty to reply. “He came into my room last night. Said he had a nightmare about his son of a bitch father.”

Bim made a distressed noise, sidling closer and placing a hand on Eric’s back, rubbing small, soothing circles. Eric let out a muffled whimper. “I-I-I just…wanna go back to my room…”

Bim nodded, giving him a one-armed hug before stepping away. King passed him a plate, piled with scrambled eggs and a couple pancakes. “You should eat something, even if you don’t feel good. We can send Dr. Iplier in later if you want.”

Eric shook his head, panic briefly coursing through him as he took the plate. “No! I-I mean, no, I’m good. I’m just gonna…get some more sleep.” He bolted out of the kitchen, moving as fast as he could back toward his room.

He hesitated before opening the door. He didn’t _have_ to go in. He could head back to the kitchen, tell everyone what was _really_ happening, and they could put a plan together. His father didn’t have to know. But then again…Eric was a _terrible_ liar, if the fiasco that just went down in the kitchen was anything to go by. Derek would read him like a book, and who _knows_ what he’d do to him as punishment. Just thinking about it made Eric cringe and bury any thoughts of disobedience. If he obeyed, he wouldn’t get hurt.

_Right?_

Swallowing down the fear that threatened to crawl up his throat like bile, he pushed open the door, closing it quickly behind him and keeping his head bowed. He risked a peek. His father was sitting on his bed with one eyebrow raised, staring at him expectantly. He looked cleaner, apparently haven taken a quick shower in Eric’s bathroom while he was gone, and was dressed in some of his clothes. He passed his father the plate, backing away quickly as he immediately began tearing into it with his hands, not that Eric had remembered to bring silverware anyway.

He tucked himself into the corner of his room, as far away from Derek as he could get, his knees pulled up to his chest with his arms wrapped around his legs, sitting on his pillow. He couldn’t help but feel sick as he watched his father eat, swallowing everything down as if he hadn’t eaten in days. Judging by his ragged appearance and how difficult Eric knew life on the streets was, he probably hadn’t.

His breathing hitched, eyes going wide, when Derek’s gaze slid back to him, literally licking the plate clean before setting it aside. Eric buried his face between his knees, beginning to shake as he heard Derek draw closer. The footsteps stopped. He didn’t dare look up. “Get up.” He hesitated a moment too long, and once again Derek was pulling him up by his hair, startling a pained cry from him. “I _said_ , get up!”

Eric shrunk as he was forced to stand before his father, refusing to meet his eyes and pressing himself as far into the corner as he could. He ignored the terrified tears that began to fall. Out of the corner his eye, he saw Derek smile with false warmth. “So, how have you been getting on these past three months? These guys been treating you well?” Eric opened his mouth to reply verbally, but thought better of it, slamming his jaw shut with an audible _clack!_ and simply nodding. Derek’s smile widened, something feral glinting in his eyes. “Do you know how _I’ve_ been doing? Do you know what _my_ life’s been like?”

Eric shrunk further with every word as Derek continued speaking, raving like a man gone mad. “ _I_ have been _out there_ , in the cold, for _months_. I have been _ostracized_ from society due to your new ‘friends’! _No one_ has helped me, not even the homeless shelters! I have resorted to searching through _garbage bins_ for any scrap of food! I have no pride left, no dignity.” He _grinned_ , eyes smoldering with rage and bitterness. “But I have _more_ than enough resentment. And right now, _you_ are my only outlet.”

Eric’s eyes blew wide, snapping his head up just as Derek shoved him into the center of his room. He spun around, stumbling back. “No – wait – !” And just like that Derek was wrapping a hand around his throat, not quite squeezing but certainly threatening to. Eric squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing harshly and trembling where he stood. He could _feel_ his pulse thrumming in his neck against his father’s fingers

“If you make another _fucking_ sound…” Derek tilted his head, tightening his grip for a brief moment, but it was still enough to have Eric’s blood pounding in his ears. He dropped his hand, and Eric gasped, coughing as one hand flew up to his throat. “Don’t. _Move_.”

Eric froze where he stood, not wanting to open his eyes. He braced himself. Derek’s fist connected with his chest, knocking his breath from his body and sending him staggering backwards, but he obediently swallowed back his cry of pain. He wasn’t even given time to recover before the next hit connected with his gut. He doubled-over, not quite smothering a whimper as his legs gave out and he collapsed to the floor. He curled into a tight ball, covering his face with his arms as his father continued to kick at him. Blow after blow was rained down upon him – only in places that the bruises wouldn’t be visible, he realized – until he was nothing but a broken, sobbing mess on the floor.

Derek sighed, stepping away from him at last and moving to sit on his bed. Eric didn’t move, just sobbed quietly where he lay. He wasn’t even sure he _could_ move; his whole body hurt, his muscles stiff and pulled taut. He heard the bed creak as Derek lied down, another contented sigh escaping him. “I haven’t laid in an _actual_ bed since the first time I was in this Godforsaken house! Was it always this _nice?_ ”

Eric flinched violently as Derek spoke, breath hitching. He curled into a tighter ball as his father’s breathing evened out and slowed, clearly asleep. He still didn’t move.

He just laid there and sobbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone notice that I gave Eric the same mentality of dealing with Derek that I gave King before he was being tortured by the Author?


	3. Chapter 3

Eric was jolted awake – completely unaware he’d even fallen asleep in the first place – by a knock on the door. He lifted his head, wincing even at that small movement, and checked the bed. His father was still asleep, snoring softly. The knock came again, this time with a voice. “…Eric? Eric, it’s me, Dr. Iplier. The others said you were sick and having nightmares, and I-I know you didn’t want to see me but I just came to check on you anyway. Please open up.”

Slowly, Eric began picking himself up off the floor, wincing with every movement and swallowing back his harsh gasps and cries of pain. He stood on shaky legs, and moved to the door, opening it just enough for him to slip out before closing it again, hiding Derek from view. Dr. Iplier stumbled back in surprise, eyes going wide. “Oh! Hi!” He gave him a once over, alarm and concern quickly spreading across his face. “Jesus, Eric, you look like _shit_. Are you sure you don’t want me to check you out? It’d be no trouble.”

Eric sighed, barely able to keep his eyes open and slumping against the door. “M’fine, I just…wanna _sleep_. Wanna be left alone…” His words were slurring together, _everything_ hurt _so much_ …

Dr. Iplier still looked unconvinced, picking at his cast with his free hand. “You know, every instinct I have is _screaming_ at me to drag you to my office, but I’ll respect your wishes. For now, at least. I do want you to come by later though, alright? Whenever you’re feeling up to it.”

Eric nodded mutely, and Dr. Iplier turned away. He cast one more worried look over his shoulder before he walked back down the hall. Eric slipped back inside his room, sliding down the door to rest in a heap on the floor, completely exhausted. He managed to lift his head in order to check on the bed, to make sure his father was still sleeping.

Derek’s eyes were open.

Eric’s blood went cold, but he found he didn’t have the strength to move, slumped pitifully on the floor. He didn’t even twitch when the bed creaked as Derek moved into a sitting position. When he spoke, his voice was sharp, cutting through him deeper than any knife could. “Who was that?”

Eric’s eyes slipped shut, unable to keep them open any longer. “D…D-D-Dr. I-Iplier…”

Derek snarled. “Did you rat me out?”

Eric shook his head, then immediately regretted it when his head spun. “N-n-no…”

He flinched violently, whimpering pitifully, when he felt Derek’s fingers card through his hair. He massaged his scalp gently, tricking Eric’s body into relaxation as he was given the affection he so desperately craved. He didn’t know when he started crying, but as his father continued his actions he couldn’t stop them, streaming down his face silently. “Hey, there’s no need to cry, son. You did alright. You’re okay.”

Eric opened his eyes just a little, his father’s face blurry through his tears. “Dad, it _hurts_. I-I-I can’t…I can’t –”

“Shh, I know, son, I know. I’m sorry.” He offered Eric a smile. “Come on.”

Carefully, he lifted Eric into his arms, soothing his pained noises with gentle words as he carried him to his bed. Eric couldn’t help the relieved sigh as he was placed among the soft covers, burrowing beneath them as Derek’s hand returned to his hair. He heard his father hum softly. “Get some sleep, son. I love you.”

Eric swallowed harshly, beginning to drift off. “I love you too, Dad.”


	4. Chapter 4

And so it went for three more days.

Eric was locked in his room with his father, trapped in a vicious cycle of Derek’s mood. Some moments, Eric was pretty sure the only thing holding him back from _screaming_ was the fear of being discovered. He never hit him as much as he did the first day, but the verbal abuse was _relentless_ , a constant stream of cursing him for abandoning his father and pointing out how _worthless_ he was for not even putting up a fight. But other times…he was so tender and caring and, well, _fatherly_ , tending to his every need that it made Eric’s head spin. It was those moments that kept Eric quiet, hoping futilely that perhaps it was a sign that he wouldn’t hurt him again. Of course, he always did.

The other egos tried their best to take care of him. Ed, Bim, and Dr. Iplier were constantly stopping by to check on him, still under the pretense he was just sick. Every time they came by, Derek hid in the bathroom, leaving Eric wherever he had curled up on the floor. They always brought him food and placed him back on his bed, but the second they left Derek reemerged and dragged him off his bed, stealing his food and building his own strength back up as Eric grew weaker. His nightmares had gotten worse, leading him to wake up screaming most nights and quickly cutting off his choked sobs to avoid waking his father and prompting forth his wrath.

Until finally, he broke.

Eric curled into a tighter ball as someone knocked on the door. “Eric? It’s Bim. I’m gonna come in, okay?” Derek fled to the bathroom, closing the door just as Bim walked in. The game show host sighed and Eric whimpered pitifully. “I don’t understand why you’re always on the floor, kid. It can’t be comfortable.”

Eric let out a small noise as Bim lifted him into his arms, dangling limply. “…S’cold…feels nice…” It wasn’t exactly a lie – the cold hardwood _was_ nice against his burning skin, but his position was never voluntary. He sighed, eyes closed as Bim set him on his bed, tucking him.

Bim frowned, placing the back of his hand against his forehead, and humming with concern. “The fever’s new. I’ll be right back, I’m gonna get Dr. Iplier.”

He turned around, moving to sprint away, and _panic_ swarmed Eric’s system. _He didn’t want to be left alone._ So Eric caught his sleeve, his hand shaking. Bim raised an eyebrow, and tears sprung to Eric’s eyes. “I can’t – I can’t _take_ it anymore!” His voice was just a whisper. He tugged Bim down closer, whispering in his ear. “ _I’m not sick._ ”

Bim’s brow furrowed, staring at him with confusion. “Eric, what are you talking about, you’ve literally got a fever, just sit tight and –”

“No, you’re not _listening_ to me!” Eric swallowed, eyes flicking to the bathroom door. His whisper was nearly inaudible. “B-Bim, _my dad_ is hiding in the bathroom. He’s been here for days.”

Bim bristled, alarm visibly spiking through him. “Come again?”

Eric shook his head, dropping Bim’s sleeve. He shoved away the covers, lifting up his shirt just enough to reveal the edge of the horrific bruises he knew mottled his body. Bim took a step back, covering his mouth with his hand as his eyes shot wide. “I-I-I can’t – he hasn’t – it _hurts_.”

Bim nodded, his own eyes darting to the bathroom door. Suddenly he forced a surprisingly genuine laugh. “Yeah, don’t worry, Eric, I’ll tell him. Don’t worry.” Eric realized he was keeping a cover, making sure Derek didn’t get suspicious. Bim stepped forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead, then began backing toward the door, mouthing _‘Hold on.’_ before he spun on his heel and sprinted off, closing the door behind him.

Eric hid himself under the covers as the bathroom door was pushed open, and Derek crept back into the room. Immediately the blankets were torn off his body and Eric was curling into a defensive position, his arms covering the back of his head and his knees tucked under his body. Derek’s sharp tone had him flinching more. “Why were you whispering?! _What did you tell him?!_ ” Eric only shook his head, and then his father was throwing him bodily to the floor, forcing a pained cry from him. “ _Answer me!_ ”

“I-I-I-I d-didn’t tell him a-anything, I-I promise!” Derek’s eyes simply narrowed, unconvinced, and he landed a sharp kick to Eric’s gut, knocking the breath from him. He instinctively tried to curl up again, but then his father was stepping on his hand, grinding his shoe down on his fingers and Eric sobbed, his free hand wrapping around his wrist as he weakly tried to tug his other free.

And then the door burst open.

Both Dereksons’ heads shot up as all four Googles stormed the room, eyes blazing brilliantly. Derek backed away, stepping off of Eric, his eyes darting every which way as he desperately searched for an escape route. But then it was too late; Google and Red were grabbing his arms, hauling him away from Eric as he struggled violently, but his human strength was no match for the powerful, furious androids. Green trailed after them as they dragged him away, a safety net just in case he _did_ break free. Oliver ignored them all, darting straight to Eric’s side and crouching down beside him. “Eric! Eric, can you hear me, are you okay?!” Eric just groaned and sobbed in response. “Okay, oh dear, oh God, okay, I’m gonna pick you up, just – bear with me okay? We’re gonna get you to Dr. Iplier.”

Eric whined as Oliver slid his arms beneath his body, lifting him up as carefully as he could. He immediately curled into the warmth of his logo, beginning shiver, and the already rapid, loud whirring of Oliver’s core picked up. He could hear his father screaming in the background, demanding to be released, a command the Googles blatantly ignored. His senses suddenly felt dulled, like he was underwater, as Oliver rushed him passed. He heard the shouts of the other egos, distorted and wordless to his ears, but he could still grasp certain pieces. Dark’s voice particularly overshadowed them all, something about…the meeting room?

All of the shouting was abruptly cut off, and then he was being set down on a bed, and then it was just Oliver and Dr. Iplier, if the blurry yellow and white shapes were any indication. They were talking, quietly, and then Dr. Iplier’s face was suddenly focused and in his own. Eric jumped, his senses snapping back into focus as he glanced around, pushing himself back on the bed. Dr. Iplier backed up, hands raised placatingly. “Hey! Hey, it’s alright! It’s just me.”

Eric said nothing, just pulled his knees up to his chest, breathing heavily as he cradled the hand his father stepped on, bowing his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dr. Iplier and Oliver exchange worried glances before turning back to him. Dr. Iplier inched closer. “Eric, can you take your shirt off for me? Bim said – I need to see what he did to you, okay?”

Eric hesitated for a long moment before obeying, lowering his knees and pulling his shirt over his head. The action was met with twin gasps. He glanced at them. Dr. Iplier looked _horrified_ , his mouth open slightly, and glowing yellow tears were trailing down Oliver’s face, both of his hands covering his mouth. Eric looked down at himself, finally seeing what his father did to him.

His entire torso was mottled different shades of purple, not a single inch of skin free from the grotesque bruising. He was positive his back wasn’t much better. He swallowed harshly, tears springing to his eyes, and he wrapped his arms around himself, turning his head away. Someone laid a hand on his shoulder and he flinched violently. The hand jerked away, and Dr. Iplier spoke. “Sorry! I – c-can you lower your arms? I need to bandage you up, see if anything’s broken…I’ll get some painkillers for you.”

Dr. Iplier darted away, and Eric lowered his arms, keeping his head bowed. He could feel Oliver’s gaze on him. He desperately wanted to cover himself back up, but then Dr. Iplier reappeared at his side, handing him a couple pills and a glass of water. Eric took them obediently, refusing to look either of them in the eye. He let out a startled, pained cry when a hand pressed to his chest. Dr. Iplier winced. “Sorry, I know, I’m sorry, but I need to see if anything’s broken. It’s gonna hurt, and I can’t do anything about that, and I’m sorry, but just – I’ll try to be fast.”

Dr. Iplier pressed lightly against his chest again, moving down his ribs. Eric swallowed back his cries, but was unable to stop the tears trailing down his face. Dr. Iplier kept to his promise, though, moving fast, even though the process was drawn out slightly by his use of only one hand. Eventually, Dr. Iplier sighed with relief, his hand falling away. “Well, nothing’s broken, which is a miracle. I just need to get some antibacterial stuff and some bandages, and then I can look at your hand, alright?”

Eric nodded, and Dr. Iplier moved away again. Oliver shuffled his feet before drawing a little bit closer. “…Eric? You haven’t spoken a word since we – the Googles, I mean – arrived in your room. Are you okay?”

Eric opened his mouth to reply, but he just bowed his head again instead, picking at the end of the blankets. Dr. Iplier’s voice came from somewhere deeper in his office. “Let him be, Oliver, he’s been through something _awful_. We can see what D – what _he_ did to him physically, but who knows what he did mentally. I’d be surprised if he responded to anyone right now.”

He came back over, sitting in one of the bedside chairs and tapping on Eric’s knee. “Alright, Eric, can you move forward a little bit? I need to be able to get to your back, too.” Again, Eric wordlessly obeyed, shifting so his legs dangled over the side of the bed and he was facing Dr. Iplier. Dr. Iplier gave him a warm smile. “Hey, there we go! Lift your arms for me, bud. Now I’m warning you, this is gonna be cold, but that might feel nice right now. You still have that fever.”

Dr. Iplier began to apply some sort of ointment to his body, calling over Oliver to help when he realized his one hand wasn’t efficient enough, and it was _certainly_ cold at first. But the two of them made quick work of it, and then Dr. Iplier was wrapping him in bandages, hiding his injuries from view. He patted his leg, and Eric dropped his arms, quickly wrapping them back around himself. Dr. Iplier offered him another smile. “You can put your shirt back on now, Eric.” Eric was quick to grab his shirt, slipping it back over himself, and Dr. Iplier moved closer. “Alright, now let’s see that hand.”

Eric’s eyes shot wide, and he cradled his injured hand to his chest, shaking his head. Dr. Iplier placed a hand on his knee. “It’s okay, Eric, I won’t hurt you. You know that. I’m only trying to help.” Eric swallowed harshly, but he slowly revealed his hand. Dr. Iplier took his wrist and winced. Already the area was beginning to swell, bright red and covered in small abrasions from his father’s heel. “Ouch, that needs to be cleaned out. Oliver, can you grab me the disinfectant and some cotton balls? They should be nearby; the Host needs them more often than not.”

Dr. Iplier continued to talk to him as he worked, rambling endlessly about little things – specifically about stupid things the Host has done – and by the time Eric’s hand was wrapped in bandages he was giggling to himself, Dr. Iplier smiling softly as he drew away. “There we go! Let’s see what we can do about that fever, hm?”

The door slammed open.

All three of their attentions were snapped to the door. Ed was standing there, his sunglasses askew and his cowboy hat absent. Eric immediately teared up at the sight of him, scrambling off the bed and launching himself at him, burying his face in his shoulder and wrapping his arms tightly around him. Ed stumbled back a couple steps before reciprocating, holding him gently. “Hey there, kid. How ya feelin’?” Eric just shook his head, trying to keep from sobbing. Ed shifted a bit, lifting up his head to face the other two. “Dark wants us all in the meetin’ room. If Eric’s feelin’ up to it, that is. I’m sure he would have no qualms about postponin’ it.”

Dr. Iplier hummed. “He still has a slight fever. And… _God_ , it was horrific, Ed, what he did to him. At first I didn’t know why Bim would be in such hysterics just seeing a little bit of it, but after seeing _all_ of it…”

Ed tensed around him, and then he was pulling back, just enough to see his face. He offered him a small smile. “So Eric, are you feelin’ up to goin’ down there? I’m warnin’ you, your father _is_ there, but he won’t touch you, not with the Googles, Wilford, and Dark all holdin’ him down. You’ll be safe, I promise.”

Eric froze, glancing away. He was _terrified_. The painkillers were kicking in, he didn’t hurt anymore, but his hand was numb and he _remembered_ how much it all hurt. He would be perfectly happy to never see his father again. But he felt like this needed to be done. He needed…closure.

So he nodded. Reluctantly and hesitantly, but he nodded.

Ed grinned, then shot a look over Eric’s shoulder. “Then we’re all off. It’s _Hell_ down there, as a forewarnin’. Everyone is just – you’ll see. I can’t even describe it.”

Ed began to move down the hallway, Eric stuck to his side like glue. Dr. Iplier and Oliver trailed after them, and Eric could feel the apprehension and fear coursing through him, making him sick, and the closer they drew to the meeting room the more it grew. At some point he began shaking, slipping his uninjured hand into Ed’s. The cowboy gave him a look but said nothing, just squeezed his hand as they kept walking.

They stopped in front of the meeting room door, and Ed turned around, placing both his hands on Eric’s shoulders. “Are you _sure_ you wanna go in there?” Eric nodded again, more confidently this time, and Ed sighed. His eyes darted to Dr. Iplier and Oliver briefly before pushing open the door and stepping in.

The first thing Eric noticed was that the tension in the room was so thick he felt like he could swim through it. The second was his father. He wasn’t exactly hard to spot; he was hogtied on the table, spitting curses and struggling violently against the ropes that trapped him, Dark and Wilford’s juxtaposing auras visible pinning him in place. The other egos were gathered around the table in their designated positions, all in various stages of visible rage. Dark’s writhing aura took up the entire back wall, leeching all color from the area, his ringing at a near deafening pitch with his red and blue images standing to either side of him, all three staring at Derek with tangible disdain and disgust. Wilford, on the opposite end of the table, was leaning back in his chair, his feet propped up on the table and twirling a knife in his hand. Eric cringed the moment he saw his eyes. They were so _bright_ , drowning in insanity and fury, and his grin was so predatory and feral that Eric looked away as quickly as possible, pressing himself tighter to Ed’s side.

Bim turned his head when they walked in, immediately splitting in a relieved smile as Dr. Iplier moved to his spot by the Host – who’s own aura was wisping around him, ink dripping steadily onto the floor as his sockets bled heavily – and Oliver went to stand by the other Google’s, all of which were glowing brightly. “Eric! You’re okay!” He stood, pushing his chair out of the way and moving toward him. He scanned him with his eyes, visibly flinching when he spotted his bandaged hand. “Well, relatively at least. Come on.”

He pulled Eric away from Ed’s hold and toward the table. He and King had both moved down a seat, leaving an empty chair between Bim and Ed for him. He sank into it gratefully, holding tight to both of their hands and was pleasantly surprised when Bubblegum appeared by his leg, climbing up him to settle in his lap, chattering softly. Eric drew a deep breath, then lifted his head, facing his father at last.

Derek attempted to turn and face him, but then his head was being slammed into the table by a pink, glittery strand of Wilford’s aura, drawing out another string of furious curses. Dark raised an eyebrow. “Lighten up, Wil. We want him conscious, at least, for the time being.”

Derek jerked in his bonds, face still being pressed into the table. “Yeah, fucking _lighten up, Wil_. Jesus Christ!”

Wilford snarled, slamming his head again. “ _Don’t_ call me that,” he spat, gripping his knife in an iron hold.

Derek licked his lips, blood streaming from his nose. “ _He_ calls you that, why can’t I?”

Wilford’s eyes glittered dangerously. “For one, I’m _marrying_ him.” Dark lifted his hand for emphasis, the black diamond on his finger reflecting the colored glow of his images. “And second, I think you are the _worst_ type of _scum_ the human race has to offer. _You_ have not earned the _right_.” Still, the pink strand drew away.

Derek jerked again, and Eric cringed when he noticed his eyes were on him. “Eric, come on, son, you’re not gonna let them do this to me are you? You –” He was caught off by his own pained cry as Dark’s aura wrapped around his throat, jerking his chin up and forcing him to hold a position that could not possibly be comfortable.

“You _do not_ get to speak to him. Understood?” Dark’s eyes were beginning to change color, his images flickering rapidly. Derek scowled, swallowing audibly, and Dark let him go.

“ _Why_ are you being so ****ing _polite_ , Dark?!” Bing slammed his hands on the table, his eyes burning like twin suns, his shades discarded. “We should be ripping him to ****ing _shreds_.”

“I agree with Bing!” King narrowed his eyes, seething in a way Eric had never seen, his eyes smoldering. He looked about ready to leap onto the table and tear Derek apart with his bare hands, to the point where Bim actually laid a hand on his shoulder, keeping him in his chair.

Silver crossed his arms. “Normally I’d be against you guys’ insatiable bloodlust when someone offends us, but for _this_ I would _gladly_ join in.” He shrugged. “And if I, say, walked out right now, you guys could do whatever you want to him and I couldn’t say anything to the police when they inevitably find his body.”

“Silver, you _know_ we’d do it with or without your participation,” Google purred. His eyes flashed even brighter, his cheek propped up on his fist as he stared Derek down with a small smirk.

Bim scoffed. “And how dare you think of us as so amateur that they’d even _have_ a body to find.”

Derek was growing paler and paler with every word spoken, his breathing growing harsher, the blood from his nose standing out against his pallor. His eyes flicked to every ego he could see, his struggling growing more panicked. “ _God_ , you all really _are_ insane! You’re fucking psychopaths!”

The Jims split in matching, wide grins, speaking in perfect unison. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

What little color left in Derek’s face completely drained, and the Host spoke, blood painting his grin red, his bat resting in his lap. “While the Host _thoroughly_ enjoys all this talk, he suggests that the final decision of what happens to Derek Derekson should be left up to Eric.”

All eyes turned to him, even Bubblegum’s, who was still purring in his lap, and Eric shrunk, pulling his hands from Bim and Ed in order to wrap them around his own body. Reynolds gave him a small smile. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Eric.” His gaze hardened as it slid to Derek, who was shifting uncomfortably on the table. “Trust us when we say we would be _more_ than happy to take care of this on our own.”

Eric opened and closed his mouth a few times, eyes darting rapidly between them all. “I –” His voice cracked, his throat dry and hoarse, and he bowed his head, covering the back it with his arms. “I-I-I just n-never want t-t-to _see_ him again!”

“We are more than capable of making that happen.” Green grinned, showing a bit too much teeth as all four Googles’ eyes flashed bright red.

Dark stood, straightening his tie. “Well, Derek, it looks like your fate has been sealed.” His aura began to creep toward him and he flashed a smile. “I did warn you; you wouldn’t like the consequences if we found you back here.”

Derek’s eyes widened, and his struggling picked up a sense of urgency. “No no no, you can’t just –” He was cut off by a sharp gasp as Wilford’s knife was suddenly imbedded in the table, centimeters from his face.

Wilford’s ever-present mad grin widened, his eyes somehow even brighter than before as what seemed like a second aura began to form around him, one that was thick with madness and _delighted_ in Derek’s fear. “Don’t. Move. A _muscle._ ”

Dr. Iplier pushed away from the table, hurrying over to Eric and taking his arm. “Come on, you don’t want to see this.” He quickly pulled him out of the room, Bubblegum scampering away, and Eric glanced over his shoulder. The last thing he saw was the Host lifting his bat and Derek _screaming_ before Dark’s aura swarmed the room, slamming the door shut and cutting off all sound and sight.

Eric flinched, and allowed Dr. Iplier to drag him away, leading him back up to his office. By the time Eric was sitting back on the bed, he was shaking like a leaf, his skin _burning._ Dr. Iplier pushed on his shoulders lightly. “Lie down, Eric. Let’s see what we can do about that fever. When was the last time you ate?”

Eric whimpered pitifully, falling back on the bed as his eyes slipped shut. “The-the-the…d-day before my d-dad came back…”

Dr. Iplier winced. “ _Shit_ , that was almost a week ago! Alright, I’ll go get you something, here –” His hair was brushed from his face, and something cold and went was placed on his forehead. Eric sighed in relief, his near-constant shivering dying down just a little. Dr. Iplier continued to card his fingers through Eric’s hair, humming softly. “Relax, Eric. He won’t be able to hurt you again. The others are _certainly_ taking care of that.”

Eric cracked one eye open as Dr. Iplier removed his glasses. “Wh…what a-are they d-doing to him?”

Dr. Iplier rubbed the back of his head. “If I had a week I still wouldn’t be able to list all the things they’re probably doing to him. But he’s suffering, I can tell you that much. He won’t die quickly. The _last_ time they were even _half_ this furious…” Dr. Iplier shuddered. “The Host and Google beat the offenders into literal bloody pulps and Dark just watched them with this _look_ in his eye…” He shuddered again, shaking his head. “Point is, you’re safe, and he’s out of the picture. You just focus on healing, alright? I’ll go make some soup or something, get you some water.”

Dr. Iplier bustled away, muttering something about ‘Goddamn chicken’ and ‘fucking _Google_ ’, and Eric let his eyes slip shut once more. He shifted into a more comfortable position, careful not to dislodge the cloth on his forehead, and he rested his injured hand on his chest, rubbing at the bandages he could feel faintly under his shirt. He could feel himself beginning to drift off, and he didn’t fight it, allowing himself to slip into unconsciousness.

And for once, he didn’t have nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh shit was this a ride. This...was a thing. As fucked up and awful as it is, I enjoyed this story! At least, I enjoyed writing it. It pains me every time I reread it. And I hope you guys enjoyed it, too! Nothing traumatic will ever happen to this cinnamon roll again, I promise. At least, not in the present. Flashbacks however...
> 
> Anyway, Sunday's story WILL be directly related to this! See ya guys then! (Iantha that would be your story about the Host taking a shine to Eric)


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